His Final Seduction Read online

  How brief it had been. A second only. Two at the most and yet…Whew.She’d wanted more. So much damned more it freaked her out.

  It’s the unexpectedness of it. That’s all. There was nothing inherently terrific about his kiss.

  Oh, you are such a liar.

  She touched her nose to see if it was growing. Okay, fine. It had been so fine she’d stopped breathing. And what she’d secretly wanted, wished for, was for him to press harder, take the kiss deeper.

  But not there in front of everyone, of course. Then again, if they’d been someplace private, no telling how far he might have taken things.

  She blushed in the darkness, embarrassed both by her unexpected need and the silly theatrics she’d performed in the dining hall.

  You need some fun. Take Avery’s advice. Let whatever happens be okay.

  That was difficult to do because while he’d kissed her, she’d known it was all for show. He hadn’t meant anything by it. He’d chosen to kiss her because she was safe. A pal, a friend, a buddy to play his plant. Someone he knew he couldn’t fall for.

  She clenched the sheets in her fists and let out a noise of frustration. Why had she agreed to this?

  Free vacation.

  Oh, yeah. But in retrospect, was it really worth it? Gnawing her bottom lip, she flipped over onto her side. Sleep, sleep, go to sleep.

  She couldn’t stop remembering, though, how it had felt to have Quint’s firm lips pressed against hers—tantalizing, exciting, awe inspiring.

  He didn’t mean it. Stop fantasizing about him. It wasn’t that good of a kiss.

  No, no, but it could have been.

  Sleep, sleep.

  Okay, she’d try.

  After she’d fled the dining room, she’d heard murmurs in her wake.

  “Who’s that girl who slapped Casanova?”

  “She turned him down and she looks like that?”

  “What was she thinking? There’s tons of pretty girls here.”

  “I’m prettier. I’m gonna go give him the key to my room. The man should not have to spend the night alone.”

  “You better hurry up, Hannah’s over there talking to him and unless I’m mistaken, she just handed him her panties.”

  Hmph. She’d had no reason to feel embarrassed in front of those people. They should feel embarrassed for judging her based on her looks and for being so ready to move in on Quint.

  Now you’re judging them. He’s free game. Handsome and single and playing the field. Let them be his plant. She didn’t need this. Free vacation be damned.

  She flopped onto her back again. This was a bad idea. She should simply tell Quint the deal was off. She didn’t want to be his fake conquest.

  Ah, who was she kidding? She was jealous, and she’d never looked good in green.

  6

  The mind is the ultimate aphrodisiac

  —Make Love Like Casanova

  “GIACOMO CASANOVA was born right here in Venice in 1725,” Quint told the group of men gathered for his class.

  Most of his students were single, nerdy-looking, socially awkward types who basically lacked self-esteem when it came to approaching women. Quint was quite confident that if they took his advice they’d soon be on their way to exciting love lives, and he’d told them so. They’d sat up straighter just hearing that. Now they waited, eyes on him, poised to take notes.He felt a powerful thrill in teaching that he hadn’t expected. He loved being an air marshal—the travel, the women, the freedom—but teaching filled a space in him that he hadn’t known was empty. It gave him a worthwhile feeling. Being an air marshal was all about looking for the bad things in people. It was the nature of a teacher to find and nurture the good.

  And Quint liked looking on the bright side, but no matter how much he was enjoying this little avocation, he could not forget the real reason he was here. To protect Taylor Milton’s interest. He gazed at his class roster and noticed the red stars beside a few of the names, indicating they’d taken the class before under the regular instructor, who’d been given a paid sabbatical while Quint assumed the faculty role. He’d keep an extra-close eye on those students.

  “Casanova was the son of actors, which back then was not a noble profession. Actresses usually doubled as prostitutes and actors were often their pimps. So as you can imagine, the young boy was introduced to the realities of sexual behavior at a tender age.”

  Some of the students scribbled in notepads, others typed into compact computers.

  “His parents traveled around plying their trades, and he felt shame about his mother’s reputation. But what hurt him more was her abandonment. Her love was conditional. It came and went. He wrote in his memoirs about being sent away to Padua, where he received a formal education, but he was still bitter and angry about being separated from his mother,” Quint continued.

  “You expect us to buy that Casanova’s sexy behavior was all the fault of his parents?” asked one cocky guy at the back of the room. In every class there was always one. The smartass, the rebel who challenged everything Quint had to impart. He realized that Joe Vincent was one of those who’d taken the class last winter about the same time Taylor’s Venetian resort was the first to experience sabotage.

  “Not at all, Joe,” Quint said mildly. “I’m just giving you a bit of background on what molded Casanova.”

  “So what about you?” Joe asked. “How come you’re not married?”

  “We’re not talking about me.”

  “You’re playing the part of Casanova,” Joe challenged. “You have a colorful past with the ladies, from what I hear. What motivates you? Did your mommy not love you enough?”

  The rest of the students snickered and glanced from Joe to Quint and back again. He had to take back control of the class or things could turn ugly quick. This was the one thing that made teaching a trial—students who questioned your authority. Still, he supposed it was good for an instructor to reevaluate his methods occasionally.

  “Let’s just say I haven’t found the right woman yet.”

  “So you’re not like Casanova, constantly in pursuit of that which you can never catch?”

  “No,” Quint denied. Was he? The question blindsided him, but he pushed it aside and trudged on. To his relief, Joe shut up. “Casanova was a complicated guy. He received a doctor-of-law degree in Padua,” he said, “proving his lifelong contention that the mind is the ultimate aphrodisiac. He used his facileness with words, among other tools and techniques, to seduce women, and that’s what we’re going to be learning over the course of these next two weeks. I’m also going to choose a woman from the guests at the resort as my conquest, so you can see Casanova’s techniques in action.”

  “You’re going to seduce someone as a demonstration?” said a thin guy in his early twenties with thick-framed glasses and mussed-up hair. “Sweet.”

  Quint thought about Jorgie. After she’d slapped his face and stalked from the dining hall, he’d felt a surge of attraction so strong he’d had to stay seated until his erection abated. Now, he could hardly wait to see her again and put his Casanova techniques into action. He was ready to prove they worked. Just thinking about her, his hand strayed to the cheek she’d slapped and he grinned. She was feisty. How come he’d never noticed that about her before?

  “Maybe that’s why you haven’t found the right woman,” Joe threw in. “You’re too busy treating them like sex objects.”

  “Seriously, dude, what’s your problem?” one of the other students chimed in. “We want to know how to treat women like sex objects. It’s why we’re here.”

  Was it? That bothered Quint. He didn’t treat women like sex objects. When he was with a woman, he was with her. He didn’t cheat. He didn’t lie.

  Yeah, but you’ve never been with anyone longer than four months. That was because after the four-month mark, a woman started expecting a commitment.

  “Casanova was a risk-taker,” he went on, in spite of feeling suddenly conflicted about what he was doing. “He lov
ed intrigue and persuaded high-born noblewomen to make love with him in all kinds of dicey places—inside a speeding carriage, in a closet while the woman’s snoring husband slept in the bed, at a public execution. He was young, good-looking, well educated and inventive. He enjoyed the company of older women, as well. When it came to the fairer sex, Casanova was not choosy. He loved them all. He was a rake, a scoundrel. No wall was too high, no gate too barbed to keep him out. When he wanted a woman, he went after her with every weapon in his arsenal. And he was always genuinely in love with the woman he was pursuing and his passion for her was irresistible to the woman. But once they fell in love with him, he left her, just like his mother had left him.”

  Quint paused in his monologue and looked out at the students. He had them so spellbound they’d stopped taking notes and were just listening, hanging on his every word, imagining that they themselves were Casanova the libertine. He loved holding them in his thrall. Even the tough case, Joe, was leaning forward, ears pricked.

  Lowering his voice for dramatic effect, Quint continued. “But there was one woman for whom he burned truly, deeply, and she drew him like a magnet. She was Lady Evangeline, reported to be the illegitimate daughter of Louis the fifteenth and one of his courtesans. Evangeline was the most beautiful woman at court. Every man who saw her desired her. But Lady Evangeline was a tease. She led Casanova on a merry chase without giving in, alternately tantalizing him with seductive smiles and dismissing him with haughty snubs. She drained him of his money and power, and made mincemeat of his heart. She defused him, rendered him useless, and yet he kept coming back for more. He pined for her all his life but they never fully consummated their explosive affair.”

  “Vicious cock tease,” Joe said.

  Several other students murmured in agreement.

  “Okay, then.” Quint pressed his palms together in a single clap. “That concludes the history of Casanova. Now, we’re going to move on to some of the techniques he used to seduce his conquests. Tip number one. Appreciate her for her mind, no matter how great her tits are.”

  The guy in the glasses raised his hand.

  “Yes, Spencer?” Quint asked.

  “Um, exactly how do you do that?”

  “Look her in the eyes, not in the tits. You’ll have plenty of time once you win her over to get to those juicy breasts. And listen really listen, to what she has to say.”

  “Aw, man,” someone else said. “Girl talk is so boring.”

  “Oh, no, that’s where you’re wrong.” Quint shook a finger at the guy. “Girl talk is the key to the kingdom, and once you know how to use it to your advantage, the palace is yours.”

  “So you’re going to show us how this works, right?” Spencer asked.

  “Yes.” He nodded. “Tonight. On our gondola tour of the city.”

  “LADY EVANGELINE was one of the most sought-after courtesans in the Venetian court,” said Maggie Cantrell, the woman teaching the Make Love like A Courtesan course. She was as diminutive as a munchkin, pushing sixty with a strong tail wind, and she spoke in a slow, measured, deep-throated voice. “Men wrote poetry about her. Women wanted to be her. Children adored her. Evangeline’s beauty was legendary.”

  Maggie clicked the button to advance her PowerPoint presentation and the image of a young woman dressed in the regalia of the Venetian court in the mid-eighteenth century filled the screen. “But as you can see, in actuality, she was not an exceptional beauty. She was, in fact, rather ordinary. But because she was so adept at the art of seduction, people saw her as a rare beauty, even though she was not.”Hmm. Jorgie leaned forward, eyes narrowed, to study the on-screen image of Lady Evangeline.

  “Her number one rule for bringing men to their knees was always pay less attention to your admirer than he pays to you. For every three times you feel him looking at you, glance at him once. However, if you want the strongest seductive power over him, when your eyes do meet, do not be the first one to look away.”

  Jorgie jotted down this piece of advice, feeling she was getting the eighteenth-century version of The Rules, although it appeared the advice on seducing a man hadn’t changed much in three centuries.

  “Remember,” Maggie said, “this was her advice on getting a man to fall in lust with you, not love. Love is a horse of a different color and involves more than just sexy mind games. The tragedy of Lady Evangeline was that she could not let herself have the one man she truly loved, Giacomo Casanova. She knew if she ever gave herself to him fully, she would lose the libertine. As it was, they burned for each other, but their psychology kept them apart. So, in short, if you’re looking for true love, find advice from someone other than Lady Evangeline. But if you’re looking to seduce, well, you can’t go wrong following her techniques.”

  The women in the room tittered, discussing love versus seduction and how difficult it was to separate one from the other. Jorgie listened with one ear while her mind strayed to thoughts of Quint. Would Lady Evangeline’s advice work on him? Could she get him to fall in lust with her?

  She thought of Brian and what he’d said about her being lousy in bed, not having a romantic soul. His exact words? “You’ve got a calculator where your sexuality should be.” He’d said that after she’d told him that she wasn’t buying a three-hundred-dollar French maid’s costume to spice up their sex life.

  Brian was right, she realized with a painful start. She did not have a romantic soul. That was why she was here. More than anything she wanted to learn how to seduce a man with one of Lady Evangeline’s come-hither looks. She wanted men to think she was beautiful even when she wasn’t. She was going to claim her sexual power, and playing Lady Evangeline to Quint’s Casanova was the key.

  “Don’t be afraid to ignore your target,” Maggie went on. “Cancel a date. Stand him up. But only if you know he is already interested in you. Doing this will add intrigue to his interest. He’ll start wondering why you’re ignoring him and who you’re with when you’re not with him.”

  The more Maggie talked, the more excited Jorgie became at the prospect of seducing Quint. She didn’t know why, but the idea of bringing the man to his knees sent a thrill jolting right through her.

  “Seduction,” Maggie said, “is all about who has the power. Claim your power now.”

  Several of the women in the class cheered.

  “Tonight, we have a flotilla of gondolas lined up to take us on an evening tour of the city. After dinner, we’ll all meet outside the palace. This will be your prime opportunity to practice the skills you’ve learned today. Dress sexily, show a little skin, but remember, men often feel guilty for objectifying a woman. Evangeline had much more to give than just her body. She had a razor-sharp wit and a keen mind. She could converse on art and music and literature. For now, I want you to go back to your rooms and practice in front of a mirror sending a seductive look, and then I want you to spend time in the hotel museum and art gallery, familiarizing yourself with the lore and allure of the eighteenth century. Class dismissed.”

  Heart thumping with excitement, Jorgie stood up and followed her classmates out into the hallway, just as Quint’s classroom let out across the corridor. Men and women converged in a cauldron of inflamed testosterone and estrogen. The smell of sex wafted off the walls of the old stone building.

  She spied Quint in the crowd, a head taller than most of the men. He caught her gaze. She held it, refusing to look away. I’m Lady Evangeline.

  He kept staring.

  She did not blink. I won’t be the first to look away.

  She inhaled deeply into the heady scent of the moment. She could almost touch the pheromone-rich air vibrating between them. Her nose detected all the subtle molecules bursting—frankincense, sandalwood, sage, oak moss, nutmeg, cedarwood, black pepper. It was so thick and clear she suspected that Eros had intentionally seeded the air with earthy aromas.

  His gaze wavered, the smile that had started up his lips never formed. His pupils narrowed, his forehead wrinkled in a quizzical expre
ssion. She wanted so badly to look away. Staring at him was much too intense and she wasn’t the type of person who confronted things head-on. This felt like aggression and it made her uncomfortable. Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to be a seductress.

  And then Quint lowered his eyelids. He was the first to break their gaze.

  She’d won!

  She barely had time to revel in the conquest when he was back, looking at her with the narrowed eyes of a predator.

  Yipes!

  This time, she would have looked away except a man even taller than Quint passed between them, breaking their eye contact. She took the opportunity to escape, ducking her head and slipping quickly into the ladies’ room. Blessed reprieve. This seduction business was hard work.

  She splashed her heated face with cold water and told herself to calm down. She didn’t have to do this if she didn’t want to. It was just a game. A bit of fun. She’d always taken sex so seriously. It was time she learned to let down her hair a little and have a good time.

  Especially when she’d be having that good time with Quint. She thought about kissing him and her mouth went dry. Oh, how she wanted to kiss him.

  Steady. Don’t forget what you learned in class today. Make him want you. Act like it’s no big deal if you kiss him or not.

  She looked at herself in the mirror, saw her pupils dilated darkly with desire, felt the tremor of longing run through her. Tonight couldn’t come fast enough.

  AFTER DINNER the members of the tour group met out in front of the resort where, as promised, a flotilla of gondolas awaited them. Music poured from the outdoor speakers. “Bella Notte.” People paired off two by two in the gondolas and floated away down the canals.

  Jorgie had spent an hour trying on one outfit after another, struggling to find the right combination that sent the message she wanted—easy come, easy go. She’d finally settled on simple tailored black slacks that fit snugly and a black-and-white vertically striped silk V-neck blouse that showed just a whisper of cleavage and black, strappy, two-inch sandals. Her jewelry was muted. Gold stud earrings and a matching gold watch. She’d bought a brighter color of lipstick than she normally wore—Heartbreaker Red—at Maggie Cantrell’s suggestion.She wore her hair down and ironed straight so it swung past her shoulders. She could feel the heat of Quint’s gaze on her but she did not look over at him. The line dwindled. More couples paired off. She waited a full five minutes before lifting her head to meet his gaze.